Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit.
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